Falling
by galactic platypi
Summary: He's a pariah, one step from falling. She's a squirming, drooling little ape. And, God help him, he loves her. Guardian Angel AU. Rated for language and eventual dark themes.
1. Chapter 1

_**Authors' Notes** : There are no words for how excited we are about this story! We hope you love it as much as we do.  
_

 _The first third of this story is completed. The first seven chapters will be updated sporadically as we finish future sections, but after that chapters will be once a week, on Monday afternoons. There will be 27 chapters of the actual plot plus a few bonuses thrown in from time to time._

 _We don't own any of the characters you recognize and we probably own very few of the ones you don't, except that we've put our own twist on them._

 _This story is unbeta'd but we tried to catch as many errors as possible. If you want to beta or Brit-pick for us, please let us know!_

* * *

 **Falling**  
 **Act One, Chapter One**  
 **The Sentence**

* * *

"You have been tried and found guilty…"

He stared at the ground, feeling nothing. Nothing but the accusing stares of his brothers and sisters. He had not moved through the entirety of the trial. A small area, perhaps two meters square, had been designated his prison for the duration of the trial; but he had remained completely still, not even lifting his head when he was called upon to speak.

"… murders of hundreds of humans and … "

The trial had been unnecessary. He wished that he could have skipped straight to hearing his sentence, skipped past the torturous week between crime and punishment. There had never been any doubt of his guilt. It was written into every single one of his charcoal-grey feathers. He had admitted to his crimes freely; he had never tried to hide them.

"In light of this, and because of the extenuating circumstances, you are sentenced to penance. You will become a guardian of humanity and you will remain in that role until your wings are once again white."

 _Or until you fall_. Those words didn't need to be said. He was only one step away from falling in any case. He hunched his shoulders, the only defense he had against the crushing weight of his guilt.

"You will also be stripped of your name. Until you have redeemed yourself, until you are reinstated as a warrior of God, you will be known as Nine. You will thereby pay tribute to the nine angels you have killed."¹

It was a cruel punishment. Every time someone addressed him, it would be a painful reminder of the lost angels. They had been his friends: Phanuel, Jophiel, Koschei, Eremiel - the lot of them. The twelve of them had fought side-by-side for thousands of years. He bowed his head, accepting the judgement.

"Have you anything to say for yourself, Angel Nine?"

For the first time since the beginning of the trial, Nine lifted his head fully and stared at his brother. His face was bleak, his eyes empty.

"Thank you for having mercy on me," he rasped unfeelingly, his voice unnaturally loud in the otherwise-absolute silence of the chamber. He bowed his head again and moved no more until every other angel had filed out, leaving him alone.

On the surface, his penance was lenient. At least he wasn't being cast out. A few hundred years of being a guardian angel looked positively gentle by comparison. On the other hand, he only had to imagine himself hovering protectively over the cradle of a human infant and he began to wonder whether it even mattered. He was much more likely to make a mistake and fall than he was to succeed. He shuddered.

But the choice was out of his hands now. No matter what, he was now a guardian angel. He would be tethered to a human infant and would be given absolute responsibility for the tiny life. He, whose hands had only ever destroyed, would foster a fragile mortal through its most vulnerable years. Then he would do it again, and again, and again, until his penance was served. Or until he fell. Doubtless he would hate every moment of it. He had no idea how to care for a human. He was not cut out to be a nurturing soul. Being forced to go against his nature so totally would be difficult, painful. It would scrape against the raw places of his soul, the jagged wounds left by the deaths of his unit. One missing, one dead by demons' hands, nine dead by his. Whatever he had to endure to repay their deaths, it was less than he deserved.

The city of Heaven, one of the Creator's greatest achievements, gleamed brightly in the light of the Son. Massive towers shot up from the shining streets below. The citizens of the city, angels and souls alike, bustled merrily amongst each other, enjoying all that Paradise as to offer.

Nine, a black smudge amidst the glory, kept his eyes down upon the golden sidewalk. He trudged onward, feeling the averted eyes and accusations hissed behind hands from the teeming crowds of beings around him.

Up ahead an angel caught sight of him and with wings mantled and finger pointing, he approached. "It's your fault! Your fault that so many children are dead!"

Nine chose not to respond, because any reaction would be on the front page of the newspaper in minutes. A scowl began to form on his face as cameras flashed. He kept onward. Before he could go any distance, the angel grabbed him by the lapels and halled him back.

None of Nine's brain took part in what happened. Battle instinct took over and within seconds the other angel's grip had been broken and he had been slammed against the nearest wall with all the strength Nine could muster. Nine froze as conscious thought took over again. He let go.

"You're insane!" the angel gasped.

"Sorry," Nine muttered, "Battle instincts."

"Battle instincts!? You tried to kill me!" The angel whirled, trying to capture the audience of pedestrians around them. "Did you see that? He tried to kill me!"

More cameras flashed. Nine mantled his wings, pushing the crowd away and giving himself room to escape. A group of new souls gasped in surprise as he pushed his way through them.

"Was that a demon?" one soul asked, turning to her tour guide. Nine flinched but didn't stop. However hurtful, he couldn't blame the new soul for thinking that. It was only one step away from true. He didn't feel much like an angel anymore.

Nine tried to escape back into the crowd. The flow of the crowd wasn't entirely random. Hundreds of angels were streaming toward a many-storied building, golden as the ones that surrounded it. However, this building had a sign on it marking it as the headquarters of the guardian angels. His heart sank as he looked at the cheerful building with its too-jaunty sign. It was so different from the stark, spartan barracks where he and his unit had lived all of their days. This was going to be more difficult than he had realized.

The building that served as the center of operations for guardian angels was not the largest in Heaven, but it was certainly one of the most heavily trafficked. Guardians returning from earth went there to await new charges. Omael, the angel in charge of keeping track of such things, was reputedly one of the busiest angels in existence. Her messengers brought down the files of children in need of guardians; the duty of matching children with their guardians fell to a squadron of angels under Gabriel's command. The net result was a bustling hive of activity which never slowed.

It was into this melee that Nine stepped, as if onto a battlefield. He would have preferred the battlefield, especially since no one here would get close to him. They drew away from him as if he was diseased, leaving him as the only angel with space to breathe.

"Nine! Angel Nine! There you are – good man!"

An angel pushed his way through the press and emerged into the clear circle around him. Nine tensed, his feathers ruffling at the sight of Gabriel's snowy white wings. The archangel was perfectly polished, as he had been whenever Nine had seen him: pressed white suit, golden blonde curls arranged to within an inch of their life, beamingly bright smiles, and hands made soft from centuries upon centuries of administration. He was, in every way, Nine's opposite.

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. Nine's wings mantled, reacting to a touch as unwelcome as any attack. He folded them quickly.

"First day on the job, eh? Well, you'll catch on quickly, I have no doubts! The rules are mostly the same. Don't interfere with humans other than your charge, unless it's absolutely necessary to keep your charge safe, and even then as little as you possibly can, et cetera. Self-harm is a choice, so you can't do anything about that because of free will and so forth. It's all pretty intuitive stuff. I'm sure you'll be fine."

He paused, waiting politely for a response. Nine said nothing and Gabriel continued.

"Well, anyway, we've got a charge for you. Fresh from Omael. Standard term is twenty years, of course, but… accidents happen." The archangel's voice darkened and he turned, drawing Nine's attention to a group of angels halfway across the room. Three angels clustered around a heart-broken fourth; the sobbing angel in the middle had light, dusty-grey wings. She, too, was being given space, although the angels avoiding her did so out of sympathy rather than disgust. Gabriel sighed. "Poor Mihr. She's never lost a charge before, not until last week. Seven years old."

Nine had made up his mind not to respond, but then the angel's words from outside came back to him.

"Was it my fault?"

Gabriel's lack of response was the only answer he needed. Nine wondered how many innocent lives had been added to his toll. The archangel handed him the file he was carrying and a pager. "She's due to be born in three days, so you have a little time to get situated before your term starts." He clapped him on the shoulder again. "And remember, if you need help, we're all here for you! No angel left behind, right?"

Nine looked around dubiously, feeling sure that Gabriel couldn't actually mean it. For any other angel, it was probably true, but him? When he looked back, the archangel had gone. That seemed to be adequate confirmation of his doubts.

The new guardian sighed and turned, eager to leave the Guardian Re-Assignment Centre (or, as Gabriel insisted on calling it, 'GRACE'). At the door, the crowd was so thick that the angels were unable to scramble out of his way. They cringed away from him as he pushed past, as if they thought that his touch would make them crumble to dust. It was possible, he thought bitterly, that they were right.

Nine used the stairs to get to his assigned floor and wandered the lesser-used corridors until he came upon his cubicle. It was maddening. The mere concept of cubicles was so totally alien to everything he knew. Fortunately, no one bothered him once he stepped inside. He took a seat upon the white office chair and opened the file. It was sparse, containing little more than a name, date, and location. He assumed that someone would add to it once the charge been born and lived a while. Maybe that was part of his job. Nine looked over what little there was: his charge was to be born on 7 May, 1986, at a hospital in London, England. The proud parents, Peter and Jackie Tyler, would name her Rose Marion.

"Rose Marion Tyler," he said aloud, and his lips twisted into an unhappy smile. "God help us both. We'll need it."

* * *

 _» Yes he does have a real name. But we're taking our cue from the show and it's never going to be mentioned. (But it makes us cry because it's so perfect.)_

 _We would love to know your thoughts, so if you get the time, drop us a review!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Authors' Notes:** Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! And thank you to all our silent readers, too! Here's the next chapter!_

 _See first chapter for disclaimer._

* * *

 **Falling  
Act One, Chapter Two  
The Parents**

* * *

The Powell Estates seemed even smaller than his cubicle. He had been here hardly any time at all and he already felt claustrophobic. In an effort to stave the feeling off, Nine stretched his wings to their fullest. He watched uneasily as the ends of his wings disappeared through the walls on either side of the room. His right wing was now in the living room. His left wing was outside the building entirely; he could feel the breeze ruffling through his feathers. He quickly pulled his wings back and folded them tightly. Nine had rarely spent any length of time in a confined space, especially one so confined as this. He fervently hoped that the Tylers planned to move house sometime in the near future; he didn't know whether he could endure twenty years in this box.

Come to that, he wasn't at all sure he could endure twenty years with the Tylers, no matter where they lived.

"Pete, how long have we been married?" the wife demanded abruptly over afternoon tea. For a split second, Pete had the panicked look of a student as the teacher announced a pop quiz, but the look was gone as soon as it appeared.

"Two years, Jacks," he answered, examining her closely as though hoping to find a reason for the sudden question.

"And how do I like my tea?" she pressed.

"Milk, two sugars. What does – "

"Taste this!" She shoved the mug toward him, tea sloshing over the rim and onto the table. "There's no sugar in it at all!"

He tasted it.

"It's fine," he said. "Plenty of sugar."

She huffed at him and got up to make her own tea.

"I just can't understand you!" she burst out, shaking a teaspoon at him. "I mean, you can never admit that you're wrong! I don't _care_ if you forgot to put sugar in it – same as I don't care that you clog up our home with all this rubbish you'll never sell – "

"Do you always have to bring that up?!" the husband cried. "I'm on the verge of something big – I swear it this time, Jackie – "

"You aren't, and you know you aren't, you useless lout! That's what I mean: you lie to yourself even though everyone else knows the real story already!" She'd been furiously spooning sugar into her tea – three, four, five, six spoonfuls – as if without realizing it. Now she stirred vigorously, added a splash of milk, and sat down again. Because of her greatly swollen stomach, everything she did was laborious. It was amazing that she could move at all; it was as though she had swallowed a planet.

The wife took an experimental sip of her tea and smiled in satisfaction and contentment.

The husband stirred his own tea, struggling furiously between his pride and his common sense. He settled for a compromise: giving into his pride but in a conciliating voice to appease his common sense. "I put two sugars in your tea, sweetheart. Maybe I should've realized you'd want more than that, but I didn't and I'm sorry. But I know I put two sugars in your tea."

He put his hand over hers. She gave him a look that told him she would, out of the goodness of her heart, allow him to persist in his self-delusion this time, although she most certainly did not believe him. He did not press the issue and the rest of the tea break passed peacefully.

Nine, with the skill of a seasoned warrior, sensed that this was no more than the quiet between battles. He was right; the bickering started again over dinner.

"For the love of God, do you have to eat that horrible rubbish?" the wife demanded. "The smell of it is making me sick!" She picked up a gherkin from her own plate and dipped it first into the tub of mint ice cream, then into the cheese sauce. The husband looked down at his fish and chips. His eyes strayed to his wife's chosen meal and he began to laugh. Nine, too, snorted at the ridiculous complaint.

Jackie Tyler's eyes narrowed. Her husband sensed the danger he was in and abruptly stopped laughing.

"You have to admit, what you're eating isn't any better than mine," he pointed out reasonably.

"But I'm pregnant – and about ready to _pop_ , if you hadn't noticed!"

The argument lasted almost ten minutes and culminated in the husband picking up his plate and declaring his intention to sit outside, where neither could be bothered by the other's meal.

The couple reunited in front of the television after the meal, where the husband rolled his eyes elegantly because the wife had chosen to watch one of those generic clothes-and-makeup shows.

"When _you_ are nine months pregnant," she told him primly, "you can watch whatever you like and I won't complain."

Nine stared at the screen. How were human beings so – vacuous? He hadn't often been in contact with humans but he could hardly believe that they would choose to spend their lives like this. Could they really find no better way to pass their scant time on this plane than fighting with each other and staring at this glowing box to watch other people fight with each other? He was resolved: he would make sure that their daughter grew up differently. He would make sure that the girl had something resembling original thoughts in her head and that she spent her time doing things that would actually mean something. The girl was not going to waste her life, letting her time slip through her fingers while she stared at the box hour after hour.

The next two days passed in the same way as the first had, and each day strengthened his resolve to make sure the daughter was different. In the mornings, the husband called a ceasefire in their breakfast bickering so that he could kiss his wife goodbye before leaving for work. Whether the wife normally worked, Nine wasn't sure; if she did, she had stopped once moving became too difficult and would probably start up again once the child was old enough to be left in another's care for hours at a time.

In truth, though, Nine barely paid attention to either of the adult humans. Their small concerns bored him. He was restless here, even after such a short time. His place was out in the world, combating the devil's armies – not in a tiny flat listening to these apes arguing through all of their waking hours. He tried to release his thoughts, sit quietly and let time slip by without concerning itself with him. He had sometimes passed weeks this way, before, as he and his unit waited with weapons drawn. Now, though, the trick eluded him and he always came back to himself within minutes.

The morning Rose was due to be born, Nine gave up all other pursuits in favor of pacing restlessly throughout the flat. His wings were mantled as though in preparation for flight or battle and not even conscious effort could smooth his feathers for long. He carried her file with him, checking the time of her birth against the kitchen clock. She would be born at 10:15 AM; it was currently 1:37. How long did it take for a human baby to get born, anyway? And how did you tell? Angels weren't born. God had created them fully-formed and fully functional. That seemed like a sensible system, not like all this reproduction stuff that He had created for the mortals.

"7 May, 1986," Nine said aloud, reminding himself of the date. Rose Marion Tyler's birthday.¹

He did a few more laps of the flat.

Just before two o'clock, Jackie Tyler woke up with a cry of pain. Nine abandoned his circuit and strode toward the bedroom. The mother-to-be pushed her husband so vigorously that he nearly fell out of the bed.

"What is it?" he asked groggily, shifting back onto the mattress. He reached a spreading damp spot and groaned in resignation. "Baby sitting on your bladder again, sweetheart?"

"My water broke, you prat! The baby's coming!"

He got up so quickly that it was almost impossible to see the movement. There was no doubt that he was now wide awake.

"Hospital!" he gasped. "I'll get the car!"

"Get dressed first," she snapped. He paused at the bedroom door, inches from where Nine stood, and then turned and shuffled sheepishly to the closet. Jackie didn't bother to dress, only shrugged on a dressing gown over her pajamas.

Once he was decently dressed, Pete carefully helped his wife to the car. Nine watched them from the balcony and then climbed onto the railing and leaped, wings spread. It felt so good to fly! He reveled in the adrenaline sweeping through him, making his hands tingle. Nine circled twice over the car park while Pete negotiated his way out. Once on the street, he took off so quickly that the tyres shrieked and Nine pumped his wings enthusiastically as he fought to gain speed.

After half a block, Nine realized that he was falling behind. He pushed himself, calling on all of his strength and streamlining his body as much as he could. "At least I'm in shape," he grunted, chuckling to himself as he imagined Gabriel trying to keep up with the speeding car. Pete continued to accelerate and had soon outstripped even Nine's ability to keep pace.²

Swearing, the angel stooped toward the car, using gravity's power to give him extra speed. He flared his wings at the last second but still hit the car's roof hard enough to send him to his knees. The humans inside remained entirely ignorant of his presence. Nine flung himself flat against the roof, arranging his wings so that the wind pushed him down against it instead of blowing him away.

Inside the car, Jackie gave another cry of pain. Pete swerved around the slow car in front of him and directly into the path of an oncoming lorry.

With an oath that would have gotten him severely chastised if any angel had heard it, Nine spread his wings forcefully and used his own strength in combination with the power of the wind to wrench the little hatchback out of harm's way.

Did it count as losing his charge when the child hadn't even been born yet? Nine had no idea, but he wasn't willing to take the chance. He smiled grimly as he hunkered down again. If this was how Pete always drove then he was going to have a busy few years. Fantastic. He had always loved a challenge.

The hospital, when at last they reached it, was busy despite the hour. Jackie was quickly installed in a room. Pete pulled a chair to her bedside but didn't sit; he walked up and down the length of the room instead, quick and nervous. After ten minutes and many attempts to make him sit down, the nurses gently and firmly ejected him from the room. From their scolding, Nine gathered that human females were prone to becoming unhealthily agitated if their partners showed nervousness; apparently, this had some adverse effect on the birthing process or the baby. In any case, Pete was told to go and calm down and not come back until he had.

In his absence, Nine sat in the chair.

He turned himself toward the television instead of looking at the mother of his charge. He focused intently on the reruns of Blackadder which eventually devolved into infomercials and, after an interminable while, the morning news. Nine ignored completely the woman on the bed next to him. He had less than no interest in the process of giving birth and was nowhere near fond enough of the mother of his charge to want to examine the biological changes necessary to – Nine abruptly stopped the thought before it could go further and scowled fiercely at the newsreader instead.

As the news ended and morning programming came on, Jackie's intermittent gasps and cries turned into much more frequent wails and screeches and, eventually, a constant stream of curses, oaths, imprecations, and virulent expletives. He was impressed with the creativity she showed; he had never thought there could be so many ways for a woman to swear at her absent husband.

Then, there was a different cry: the reedy wail of a freshly born human being. Nine looked over, now, standing up to get his first sight of his charge. He wished he hadn't. She wasn't much to look at – a tiny, ugly sack of wrinkled red skin – and, furthermore, she was covered in all sorts of things he really did not want to know about. His sizable nose wrinkled in disgust.

Nine looked at the clock. "10:21," he noted. "You, Rose Marion Tyler, are late. Best not make a habit of it or we're going to have problems, you and I."

The baby's chest swelled and she screamed. Well, fair enough. She was new and that entitled her to test everything out. If he had a brand new body, he knew he would want to run a full systems check too. Generously, he decided to allow her a few days to get things sorted. After that, he would begin to get annoyed.

Nine looked her over again and then quickly turned away as the child was handed to her mother to be fed (he knew just enough about the mechanics of that to know that he never wanted to see the process for himself). A moment later, the still-frantic father was ushered in and the couple laughed together, nearly hysterical, and exclaimed over the child.

As he stared out the window at the London morning, Nine sighed again. "God help us, Rose Tyler," he said again. "You an' me, we're going to need it."

* * *

 _»To the best of our knowledge, Rose's exact birthday isn't revealed in canon. We're going with the fact that, when Rose aired in March 2005, she was 19._

 _» Nine's flying speed is not unlimited. We did some rough calculations (not with physics, though, sorry) based on the peregrine falcon (fastest bird alive) and the royal albatross (one of the biggest wingspans of flying birds) and came up with a top speed of about 65mph, cruising speed of 45-50mph. Given that humans are a really terrible shape for flying, that's actually pretty fast._

 _We'd love to hear your thoughts! Drop us a review!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Authors' Note:** Thanks for your patience and support everyone! We're glad to hear how much you enjoy this story, because we rather enjoy writing it. 3  
_

 ** _Disclaimer:_** _Not ours._

* * *

 **Falling**

 **Act One, Chapter Three**

* * *

The infant stage of human development was the most boring and useless part of creation, as far as Nine could see. At least, he hoped that there was no part worse than this. He could not see the point of a baby. It could not walk or talk. It had no control over its body at all, at either end. Humans had the good sense to use nappies to contain the one end, but there was simply no good way to deal with the copious amounts of drool and frequent vomit that emerged from the other. It was all so… base. Why did humans live this way?

But the bodily fluids weren't the worst part. The worst part was the crying. Rose Tyler was two months old and had not yet tired of testing her lungs. It was all she seemed to do: eat, scream, and occasionally sleep.

He was sure that his ears would either bleed or develop callouses soon.

Tonight was an especially bad night. Pete had taken the early shift and then gone to bed, telling Jackie (as he screwed earplugs into his ears) to wake him if she needed his help. She'd nodded. But three hours later, an exhausted Jackie had laid Rose in her crib and told her, "You're just going to have to cry yourself out, then."

Rose's screams had taken new energy as she protested the only way she could.

Nine let it go a little bit and then stood over the crib, arms crossed, looking down his nose at her. "Now, then, Rose Tyler, that's enough out of you. There's no reason for you to be crying. I know for a fact that your mother just fed you." He paused, remembering his earlier thoughts, and then gingerly leaned forward and pulled at the edge of her nappy. Clean and dry. He let it go quickly, his relief palpable. "You don't need your nappy changed. You can't be lonely, because you've had plenty of company and that didn't do anything for you. You're just crying because you want to cry, and I'll be d – " Nine stopped himself abruptly. The phrase which humans used so easily was actually painful so close to his tongue. It was far too close to the truth. And besides that, he was fairly sure that using profanity in front of an infant was an automatic black mark against him.

"I'll not have you growing up thinking that you can get everything you want by howlin'," he said instead.

He opened his wings slightly to shift them into a better position. As soon as he began to move them, Rose cut herself off with a throaty gurgle and stared at him.

Nine's lips quirked. "Like them, do you?" He opened them a little further. She watched a while and then looked around with wide brown eyes.

Her face screwed up and she gave a little wail.

"Are you scared?" the angel asked her. He began a thorough search of the room for any monsters or demons, or anything that might have frightened the child. He ejected a bug-eyed and grinning toy cat to the closet; that made no difference to Rose's mood. Neither did any of the other toys he shifted. Stumped, Nine sat by her crib with his wings half-spread and frowned at her in consternation. There was nothing for her to be scared of, but he didn't think that explaining things to her rationally would do any good. How else did one soothe a frightened infant?

A lullaby would be his best bet, but he didn't know any. There was a music box on the dresser, but Jackie had tried that already. Anyway, he didn't know any words to go with that melody. Was there anything else – anything at all that he could sing?

A half-remembered lullaby drifted through his mind, dredged up from the depths of his memory. When had he heard it? There were only two times he could ever remember being around the sorts of people who had reason to sing lullabies. The first had been thousands of years ago, when God's people were fleeing Egypt. Dozens of units had been called to guard the fleeing Hebrews and some, including his, had stayed the whole four decades to guard the dullards after they'd decided to build that stupid cow statue. The second time, he had guarded them through the dark years when they had been one of many groups gathered into prison camps to die. That had been so recently…

Nine shook his head. Whenever he had learned the song, he knew it and now he would be able to put it to use.

"Close your eyes," he began. His voice was reedy and uncertain; he was much more used to battle cries than cradle songs. He cleared his throat. "Get some sleep. It's too late now to change anything, but it's alright. Get some sleep. It's so dark outside, so close your eyes and feel the world turn round," He paused as Rose yawned deeply. She began fussing soon after, so he continued hastily, wracking his brains for the words to the last phrase. "If you're not lost, I guess that makes you found."

He wandered uncertainly back and forth across the notes as he struggled to find the tune, but Rose didn't seem to mind. When he fell silent, Rose gave a quiet wail. He started over again. After the second time, Rose's eyes were heavy, and after the third her eyes had closed. Her breathing had turned deep and even. He sang it another time through to be sure that she really was asleep.

Nine stood and folded his wings comfortably as he looked down at her.

Babies really were useless little things. But the moonlight coming through the window lit up her sparse blonde hair. Her long eyelashes rested on her round pink cheeks. In her sleep, her breathing hitched slightly as she scrubbed at her face with one loose, sleepy fist.

Nine made a brief, humming snort in the back of his throat. Useless as she was, he had to admit she was cute.

* * *

At six months old, precocious Rose Tyler was already starting to crawl. Jackie tended to set her down on a blanket in the living room and let her wriggle and squirm to her heart's content. She flailed her arms and legs in a way that would eventually result in movement, once she started flailing against the ground instead of the air. Here, she didn't need to be supervised every moment of the day, although Jackie rarely left her alone for longer than it took to use the loo. Nine had been in the same room as his charge since the moment of her birth, anyway, so Jackie could have been a good deal more lax than she was without endangering Rose in any way.

Rose made a growling noise high in her throat and pounded her hands against the blanket with all the strength in her chubby little limbs. She could squirm forward, in a way, when her limbs happened to coordinate well.

Nine brushed her teasingly with his outermost primary feathers, making her giggle and grasp at his wings. "Come on, then," he encouraged, tickling her with his wings and then pulling away, out of her reach. She reached forward, straining herself to her limits. When she still couldn't reach, she began kicking her feet and trying to wriggle forward.

He smiled at her efforts, her determination. Were all humans like this? He hadn't seen it in her parents and he'd hardly ever been in contact with other humans. Maybe his charge was special, unique. He thought she probably was.

She grasped his feathers, crumpling a few of them in her tiny hand.

He reached out and gently loosened her grip, convincing her to hold his finger instead.

"You're going to be a force to be reckoned with," he predicted, steadying her as she rolled onto her back and letting her chew on his finger. Sometime in the next year, he would stop being able to touch her. At least, whenever she wasn't in immediate danger. He thought he would almost be disappointed; he was… almost enjoying playing with her, tickling her, encouraging her.

She was still a little beast most of the time. She screamed like a banshee whenever she wanted something, drooled everywhere, made messes of her self (at both ends) multiple times a day, refused to sleep through the night, and pulled his feathers whenever she could get close enough.

Maybe she would grow out of that, though. Hopefully.

* * *

Rose was ten months old the first time she met Mickey Smith. Jackie had arranged the playmate soon after learning that the young family who moved in with old lady Smith downstairs had a son only six weeks older than Rose.

Nine barely lifted his head when the door opened, just enough to take in the smiling dark-skinned woman with a plump baby in her arms. Rose was similarly plump, a cheerful roly-poly child. He was barely interested in the other child, but his head jerked up quickly when he caught a flash of feathers in the corner of his eye.

Mickey Smith had a guardian angel.

She had dark hair which fell in loose curls down past her shoulders, her wings were so blindingly white that her pristine dress looked dingy by comparison. He didn't recognize her; he didn't think he'd ever seen her before but the sight of her made his fist clench and his wings mantle like the fur on cat's back standing on end. He kept his eyes on her, unwilling to give her the advantage.

It didn't take her long to notice him. Her lip curled.

"You must be Angel Nine," she said coldly. "I've heard about you. The only guardian angel with wings so dark. You may as well be fallen already." She laughed. It was a brittle sound, the tinkle of broken glass. "Who was it that thought it was fair to subject children to you?"

Nine's jaw set firmly. "And you are?"

"My name is Romana," she said with great dignity. Mrs. Smith set Mickey on the carpet with Rose. "My first charge was Ham, son of Noah. I have never once lost a charge, despite the best efforts of the Enemy. Benjamin, son of Jacob, was my charge. Simon called Peter was my charge. I could list others."¹

"From Simon Peter to Mickey Smith," Nine said mockingly, unable to resist. "Who did you upset?"

Romana bristled.

"Comparing me with yourself is like comparing a mountain with an insect! You are nothing!" She made a motion as if to snatch Mickey away from Rose but didn't. "You will fail at this just as you have fail at everything else. You have no concept of what it means to care for a child, protect a child against the horrors and the dangers of this world. Make no mistake, Angel Nine," and the name struck him like a blow, as it had been meant to do. "You will lose the child and you will fall because of it. You may as well kill her quickly, before anything else can make it worse."

Nine moved quickly, spreading his wings and crouching over Rose, startling her so much that she dropped her toy and stared at him in surprise.

"Touch her and I will make you regret it for the rest of your days," he snarled. Romana did not step back, but there was a certain shift in her that said he had frightened her. Rose joyfully grabbed a handful of feathers.

"She loves to grab at dust mites," Jackie told Mickey's mum.²

"Why, Nine, anyone would think you cared for her," the other angel said with a light, mocking edge to her voice. She sat on the sofa delicately.

"I do care for her," he replied. The words were painful, moreso than the tugging on his wings. "Is that against any rule?"

"No," she said. "But it doesn't matter. The end result will be the same. You shouldn't be allowed near children."

Nine said nothing. Neither of them spoke again until the end of the playdate. Nine noticed that Romana gently guided Mickey away from potential dangers before he even encountered them. He was sure she noticed that he let Rose do as she pleased and only intervened when disaster was imminent— when, for example, Rose had just put something small in her mouth.

When the two moms stopped nattering and promised to see each other again, the angels had progressed to eyeing each other in unfriendly ways and bringing themselves to the point of talking without ever saying a word. Mrs. Smith scooped up Mickey and the two women exchanged (for the second time) compliments on how darling the other's baby was. Romana rose with great dignity, so different from how Nine moved: with economy in his movements, every motion as brief and efficient as possible.

"I'll be watching you, Angel Nine," she said coldly.

"I have no doubt," he replied, just as cold, as she swept out.

Once the door had closed behind her, Nine relaxed slightly and turned his attention more fully to Rose. She turned toward the door, occasionally making inquiring grunts.

Nine gathered her close for a few brief seconds.

"I'm going to take care of you," he told her, low and fierce. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I've got you, precious girl. I've got you."

Rose grinned at him and threw a wooden block. It bounced off his forehead.

* * *

 _» Noah (the one who built the ark) had three sons, one of whom was Ham. Jacob had twelve sons, as any Andrew Lloyd Weber fan will know, and Benjamin was the youngest. Simon called Peter was one of the twelve disciples of Jesus and is commonly referred to as St. Peter (as in, "When I get to Heaven, St. Peter is going to stop me at the gate with some very serious questions.") For the curious, Peter is a nickname meaning "rock."_

 _» Mickey Smith grew up with his Gran, but his background is not given much detail. Therefore, we decided that his parents were still together while he was very young and after that his Gran raised him._


	4. Interlude: Purah

_**Authors' Note:** And here we have the first hint that this story is not as happy and fluffy as we originally thought it would be. Thank you to everyone who has read, faved, followed, and reviewed! We love each and every one of you!_

 _This is an interlude, not essential to the main plot, but it's definitely worth reading. There will be a few more of these sprinkled here and there throughout the story. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Falling  
Interlude: Purah**

* * *

Gabriel's office had to be around here somewhere, right? It wasn't like rooms just walked off. Did they? Purah muttered inaudibly and tossed his head a little to flick his chestnut brown curls out of his eyes. He passed the cubicle with the kitten poster and turned left. His head itched but he was under strict orders to keep his hands in front of him at all times, visible to all approaching angels. It was difficult to have his abilities and a perpetually itchy scalp. If he wasn't careful, satisfying an itch would cost him last Tuesday.

Purah took a few steps back and looked at the kitten poster again. "I turned left here last time," he reminded himself aloud. "So turn right this time. Yeah." He turned right. He was sure the kitten on the poster was making fun of him. But no matter; he'd find Gabriel's office soon enough. His bright, sea-blue eyes wandered down to his hands. There was a string or ribbon tied around every single knuckle, and several on his wrists, too. It was a very helpful memory tactic - except that he couldn't remember what any of them meant.

The angels in the cubicles watched him pass. Some grinned or laughed when he wandered by, but there were also sighs of irritation. He didn't mean to be such a distraction.

"Purah!" a voice called out. Purah looked up from his own thoughts and saw a smartly dressed angel approaching him. He recognized the angel as one of Gabriel's assistants. Now… what was his name? Jakob? Or maybe Phillip. "Sir, what are you doing in Angel Resources? You were supposed to be in Gabriel's office an hour ago!"

"I'm sorry, Jakob," Purah said carefully. The look on the angel's face told him that he'd guessed the name wrong. "I just decided to take the scenic route. Lovely facilities, by the way, I just love - "

"Did you get lost again, sir?"

"Why, Phillip, I never get lost!"

"My name is Ezekiel." The angel rolled his eyes and motioned for Purah to follow him. Purah followed the taller angel to the stairs and then up to Gabriel's office. Well, given a few more minutes he would have found the way. Certainly he would have. "What have you been doing lately? I understand you haven't been seen around G.R.A.C.E in a while."

"Well, it's finals time on Earth. I like to go encourage the students. Memory, you know. It's my area. And they study so hard - it's inspiring!"

Ezekiel gave him a look of faint horror. "How, exactly, do you encourage the students?"

"Well, you know, pats on the shoulder, slaps on the back, 'You've got this,' things like that. Poor humans, they panic so easily about their academics."

The other angel gave a weary sigh. "Do you think that's wise, sir?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Purah. You erase memories by touch. And if you encourage students by patting them on the back - "

Purah stopped, his blue eyes going wide in horror. "Oh. Oh dear… I think… I believe I may have made a terrible mistake…"

Another sigh. "Well, there's nothing you can do about it now, but perhaps be more careful in future." Ezekiel seized the angel's arm before he could dart back to try and rectify the problem he had caused. "They'll muddle through. We have a bigger job for you."

"Oh really?" Purah perked up slightly. "What kind of job are we talking about?"

He stepped into Gabriel's office.

Calling the office magnificent would have been an understatement. The light of Heaven shone in through the enormous picture window, reflecting off of every surface, all of which were gleaming white. The chair behind the large marble desk was empty; Gabriel stood at the window, looking out at the city.

The archangel turned when Purah entered and gave him a gleaming smile. There was pain in his baby blue eyes. That wasn't a good sign; it meant that this assignment wasn't going to be an easy one, not a case of repressing some troublesome childhood memories.

"Purah, welcome!" Gabriel greeted. "I was beginning to think that you weren't coming at all."

"Well, you know me," Purah replied, stepping across the white fur rug. "Curiosity gets the better of me." He reached out and touched the marble globe hovering above its stand. His fingers brushed the stark shape of Mount Kilimanjaro and then danced out across the smooth Atlantic Ocean.

"This isn't going to be an easy one, my friend," the blonde angel said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit. He took a few slow and thoughtful steps forward until he was standing beside the angel in the green velvet jacket.

"Most of them aren't. What makes this one bad?" His head really itched. He focused on keeping his hands busy so that he wouldn't be tempted to scratch.

"It's another 'Angel Nine' ordeal we have on our hands. Warrior on the point of falling - we're taking him in to clean up his wings and get him back on track. But before we can get him situated at G.R.A.C.E., we need you to remove his memory of the - incident. Well, actually, he needs to lose about two years. As it is, he's a danger to himself and others. Especially himself."

"Ahh." Purah remembered the trial of Angel Nine. He remembered the soldier standing there, his guilt weighing him down more than the chains ever could, sentenced to be stripped of his title, his rank, his very name. Whatever had this new soldier done - what was so terrible that his mind had to be wiped? Purah's lips tightened. "So this is how justice is served now? Has he even sat trial yet? I wasn't informed of any trials."

"He hasn't sat trial yet."

"Then call me after he has."

Gabriel gave him a long, level look. "Just see him. When you see him, you'll understand why it has to be now."

Purah met his eyes. Then he nodded. "Take me to his cell."

Gabriel picked up the phone and, minutes later, angels in official law enforcement uniforms arrived to escort him to the holding cells. As they walked through the halls, Purah looked into the tiny barred rooms. They were mostly empty, the few criminals waiting trial looking back at him with blank faces and hard eyes. Their scars told their stories better than words could.

Purah knew when they reached his assignment. He was different. He curled on his little cot, unmoving except the foot which tapped restlessly and made his chains clink.

"Visitor for you, Jack" said one of the escort angels.

"Hello there," Purah greeted, putting as much warmth and kindness as he could into the words. The young angel looked up. His face was rugged, handsome, but tarnished by dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. A steady stream of tears left shining tracks down his face.

His dull, hopeless eyes focused with difficulty and then widened.

"Wait - I know who you are," the angel rasped, scrambling up and pressing his back to the far side of the cell. "I know what you do! Get away from me!"

"Open the cell," Purah instructed the guard. He stepped inside and listened to the lock click behind him, locking him in with the condemned angel. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward.

"Don't - please don't - " the soldier said, his voice broken. "You can't - I need - I need to remember her!" He backed away, sagging into the wall for support. Purah looked at him sadly and understood why Gabriel found it necessary to remove the memory now. It was like shrapnel in the soldier's mind, tearing him apart.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "You don't have a choice. It will be better afterwards. I promise. You'll be able to heal."

"No!" The broken angel pulled himself upright, his blue eyes suddenly full of fire. "I won't let you! I'll - I'll fight!"

"I know you will," Purah sighed. "I wouldn't expect otherwise." He really didn't like doing this. He reached out but the angel flinched away. Not that there was anywhere for him to go. Purah herded him gently into a corner. The soldier wouldn't strike him; he would be only too aware that a strike against a brother could be the act which tipped the balance between condemned and damned. There were tears in both sets of blue eyes.

"Please," he said. "I loved her."

"I know," Purah repeated. He touched the angel's cheek, softly, caressingly. The lids sank down over those fiery blue eyes and the angel slumped forward against him. "I'm sorry. You're better off without her. Now you'll be able to heal."


	5. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks for all your kind words, everyone! We love you all. =) As usual, if you recognize it, we probably don't own it._

* * *

 **Falling  
Act One, Chapter Four**

* * *

For three weeks, the only talk in the Tyler household was Rose's first birthday. It was a party such and neither angel nor infant had ever seen. While Rose stared in stupefaction at the milling crowd of adults (mostly related, mostly with children of various ages in tow, and most of whom had not met the birthday girl before), Nine pulled his wings in tight and stood as close to Rose's highchair as he could.

One year. One-twentieth of his assignment—five percent. He had never known a year to go so slowly. He had never done so little in a year as this and he was barely even started!

Mickey Smith was here and so, obviously, Romana was as well. She eyed him suspiciously, as she always did, but Rose was in perfect health and so there was nothing she could say. As usual.

"Someone will be coming to check on her today," Romana said. "It's usually one, five, ten, sixteen, and twenty. Sometimes more often, sometimes less often. It depends on the child, the angel, and who has been assigned to check on you."

Nine's eyebrows went up. "They check on you?"

"Of course. Everyone knows that."

"Not me. Don't know anything, me, 'cept keep Rose safe and I'm here for twenty years."

"Really?" Romana raised her eyebrows too.

"Only had about an hour between getting sentenced and getting here." Nine said impatiently, gesturing around at the Tylers' flat. "No one told me much of everything."

To his surprise, Romana's face lost some of the sharp hostility that she had always carried against him. His jaw set; he didn't want her pity or her help.

"If you want help or you have questions, let me know. Someone should have explained everything to you. A baby is a big responsibility, and it only gets worse in the teenage years." She looked at Rose and Mickey, sitting in high chairs next to each other and stealing small pieces of cake from each other. "Perhaps I have been too hard on you. I spoke with Barachiel. He says that you are a good soldier, but you have never sought out combat… not like some of your unit. He says that you are one of the most loyal angels he has ever known. I'm… sorry… for what you had to do."

Nine met her eyes firmly. On the night of the anniversary, he had all but ignored Rose and her parents, too lost in his own misery and loathing.

"I'd rather have your hatred than your pity." He said, and turned his attention firmly to Rose.

Romana remained nearby, chatting easily at him and occasionally giving him advice which, according to her, he should have been given even before he was assigned a charge. Some of them, he noted and made sure to remember; most, he ignored. So passed the rest of the afternoon.

As the Smiths were leaving, Romana offered to stay and help him, or keep him company, during Rose's check-up. Nine was taken aback.

"You have your own charge to look after," he said with a scowl.

"Mickey will be fine for an hour or two," she replied. "If you would feel more comfortable with an experienced guardian here during the check-up, then I'm happy to stay."

"I'll be fine," Nine told her, and then added grudgingly, "Thanks."

Romana nodded and followed her charge.

About and hour later, Gabriel appeared with the sound of tinkling chimes. He left out the shower of golden sparkles which Nine had half expected.

"Angel Nine! Good to see you, good to see you!" Gabriel gave an unnaturally white smile and rubbed his hands together as he looked around the small flat. It was a disaster, plates and cups and crumbs covering every flat surface. "Settled in nicely, I see. Ahh! And little Rose Tyler! What a beauty— God was having a good day when He made you, wasn't He, little one?" he tapped her on the nose and Rose stared at him with something like horror.

Gabriel poked and prodded her, chatting all the while in his too bright, too cheerful way. He asked about her health, her habits and schedule, and all manner of similar subjects. Sometimes his questions seemed completely unrelated, like the color of the walls in the loo where Rose had her baths. Knowing Gabriel, it was possible that there was no connection at all.

After a while, the archangel straightened. "Well, everything appears to be in order! You've done a first rate job so far, Nine, really first rate! Well, then, I'll see you in a few years!"

He was gone as suddenly as he had come.

Nine sighed and pulled his wing forward to tickle Rose and make her smile.

"Happy birthday, Rose," he said, smoothing her wispy blonde hair. "And many happy returns of the day."

She blew a spit bubble at him and giggled.

* * *

Nine bit his tongue as he watched Jackie scramble through the cluttered apartment, searching for the invitation to the Hoskins-Clark wedding. Somehow, in the time since she told Pete about it this morning, she had managed to forget where the wedding was being held. She was frantically searching for the invitation to find directions.

He looked down at Rose, who was already settled in her carrier, ready to go. She was nearly eighteen months old and already talking in 1- and 2-word snippets.

"Are you ready to go, at least?" he asked. "No one else is."

"Car," Rose said, and made a buzzing noise with her lips as if to simulate a car's engine.

"When your daddy gets back," Nine told her. She sighed heavily and Nine cracked a grin. "Couldn't agree with you more, Rose."

The two of them watched Jackie check the coffee table for a second, then a third. She stumbled around the bottles of health drinks, checking between them to see if perhaps the slip of paper had somehow fallen and gotten lodged. She did the same thorough search for the solar panels leaning against the wall, shaking half an inch of dust off them in the process. She shuffled through the mountains of paper on the kitchen table, mostly bills and paperwork related to Pete's _Grand Schemes._

Jackie stopped in front of the mirror to adjust her hair pushing her big curls back and pinning them into place with a soft pink flower clip. She turned her head this way and that, checking her appearance before turning to the baby carrier on the couch.

"Look at you, Rose, wearing your pretty new dress!" she cooed, then turned to the front door with a scowl. "Where is that lazy father of yours? Just now getting the Hoskins' wedding present—Honestly, he had all the time in the world—"

"Got it, Jacks! I managed to get the exact one Sarah asked for!" Pete burst into the flat, brandishing the ornate vase in triumph. He looked as proud as if he'd fought is way through hordes of demons to bring the ugly vase back safely. His puffed up chest deflated somewhat when he caught sight of his wife. "Wow, Jacks— Look at you…"

Jackie smiled, flattered by his compliments, and twirled so that he could take in the full effect of her peace silk dress.

Nine grinned as he saw the storm coming. "Three… Two… One," he said to Rose. As he finished the countdown, Jackie remembered how angry she was. She rounded on him, her flashing eyes burning straight through Pete's pride in his wife's beauty.

"Where have you been?!" Jackie demanded. "We were supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago! Look at you— you're nowhere ready to go! I don't even know where the bloody church is! Where's the invitation?—Oh just get dressed! It's a wedding, not a come-as-you-re!"

Nine watched Jackie harangued her husband into the bedroom before returning to her increasingly frantic search. He lost interest, then, and turned to Rose instead. From the way she kicked her little legs and blew spit bubbles at him, he surmised that she as as bored by her parents' fights as he.

"I'm determined that you won't grow up a little harridan," he told her, sitting down beside her. "Just not sure how I'm gonna do that, since all you never hears is bickering." Still, it could be worse. At least Pete and Jackie didn't hate each other, although it was sometimes difficult to tell. Nine glanced around the room, bored, and then looked back. There, under the couch, was a white card. He went to get a closer look and chuckled. As he'd suspected, it was the invitation Jackie was searching for.

Nine picked it up. Interacting with the human world took all of his concentration, even just picking up the piece of paper. He managed to get it onto the couch, where it slipped through his hand and wedged itself between the cushions.

"Mumma! Mumma! Mumma!" Rose called, tugging at her short blonde hair and pointing toward the couch. Jackie followed the line of her finger and gave a cry of triumph as she plucked the invitation out of the cushions.

"How's mummy's clever little girl, then?" she cooed, coming over to make sure that she hand't mussed herself. She cleaned the remnants of the spit bubbles from Rose's chin and raise her voice. "Pete, I found it! Aren't you ready yet?"

"Just coming, Jacks!" Pete shouted back. A second later he plopped down on the couch and jammed his feet into his shoes. "Everyone ready, then?"

"Hello, Nine. She's looking well."

Nine would never admit to jumping. He whirled around, and the hardened soldier in him— barely diminished by a year and a half as Rose Tyler's guardian— had his fists clenched in preparation to fight. The angel in front of him— white wings, solemn face, wearing what looked like scrubs and a white lab coat— remained unimpressed.

Raphael, the healer, the angel in charge of all healers - and in charge of the angels of death. Nine suddenly felt cold.

"You can't have her," he bit out, forcing himself between Raphael and Rose's car seat. Raphael was not the angel of death, but he did often make and appearance just before someone died. "I won't let you take her — she doesn't deserve to die!"

Raphael held up his hands. "Peace, brother. I'm not here for your charge."

Nine relaxed a little and let his ruffled feathers smooth.

"Then— why are you here?"

Raphael turned and looked at the husband, shrugging into his jacket (while the wife, scolding furiously, scurried to get the vase from the bedroom).

"Peter Alan Tyler will return to his Father today. It will be a car accident. Jackie Tyler and Rose Tyler will be unharmed, but Peter Tyler will perish before medical help arrives. I will be on hand to assist his passage. I though that you would appreciate forewarning."

Nine felt like he had been flying on a thermal which had suddenly gone cold, leaving him struggling to stay aloft. Rose was going to grow up without a father? And Jackie was going to lose her husband. He shivered. Then next few years were going to be hard on all of them.

"Yeah. Thanks," he said. Raphael nodded graciously and stepped back to let Nine pass, following the Tylers to their car.

Nine is practically used to Pete Tyler's driving by now. The human got especially erratic when he feels he's running late. The angel was used to near-misses and narrowly averted disaster. Normally, he used the weight of his body and the strength of his wings to keep the family out of trouble. Today, Nine kept his wings folded and tried not to interfere. There was supposed to be a car accident. Pete Tyler was going to die.

Amazingly, Pete made it to the church safely. Jackie grabbed Rose out of her car seat and bustled up to the church, ready to help out in any way she could. Nine took her place in the passenger seat.

Raphael was waiting on the street corner.

Pete parked across the street and grabbed the vase on his way out of the car.

And it was over in seconds. The car's brakes screeched. The sound of the shattering vase a lost covered the wet thump of the bonnet meeting a warm body.  
Raphael was there even before Nine, business-like and matter-of-fact. Pete gaped and the two angels leaning over him, dazed by pain and sight of their wings.

"It's alright, Pete. I'm gonna watch after them for you," he said fiercely. Pete stared at him, struggling to keep his eyes focused. "I'm gonna look after Jackie and Rose. They won't be alone, not ever. And I won't let anything touch 'em!"

"His pulse is fading," Raphael noted without a trace of concern. "Not long now. Don't worry, Peter, the pain will stop soon."

There was sirens in the distance, but they wouldn't arrive in time. It didn't seem right that Pete was out here, dying, and his wife was inside preparing for a wedding. She wouldn't find out until it was too late, much too late. She would work herself into a rage, snapping about her worthless husband, honestly, where was he, how hard was it to park a car… She would storm out to find him and that's when she'd see him, lying in the street in a puddle of his own blood.  
Pete relaxed. Raphael sat back.

"I'm finished here. I have work elsewhere. Mrs. Tyler will doubtless be here in a few minutes." Raphael touched Nine's shoulder briefly and then spread his wings. Nine watched him fly away.

Two minutes later, Jackie screamed.

The wedding was postponed.

Jackie cried for the rest of the day and most of the night. And the entire time, Nine stood over her, his wings pulled forward like a shield over her. Rose, for the first time in her life, went to sleep peacefully.


	6. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hey everyone - We're super sorry about the long delay! As stated in chapter 1, we're writing 3 chapters for every chapter we post, and chapter 17 has been killing us. Hopefully it'll get easier from here on out, but in the meantime, at last an update!_

 _PSA: We meant for this story to be fun and fluffy and light-hearted. It turned out not to be. There are still a few more chapters of fluff, but this story does turn dark eventually. We're still not sure why that happened, but we want our readers to be forewarned so this warning will continue to appear in the next few chapters._

 _If you recognize it, we don't own it. A few lines from Terry Pratchett's Discworld make an appearance in this chapter so shout out to him for writing awesome books._

* * *

 **Falling  
Act One, Chapter Five**

* * *

Once Rose learned to speak, everything got a little simpler. He had never quite gotten used to her as a baby. When she started talking, though, she became a small human instead of a strange little imp creature.

And the first time she woke up in the middle of the night sobbing into her pillow, Nine was relieved that he could finally ask her why. He knelt by her bed, turning himself so that he could spread a wing over her. "Rose, Rose," he whispered. "Tell me what's wrong. Why are you crying? Sh, sh, precious girl."

"There was monsters," she sobbed. "Like bins. Wif plungers."

Monsters like bins. The mind of a child was unfathomable to him but that didn't matter. What mattered was that his charge was frightened and he could help her.

Rose raised her eyes and looked at him. Nine felt the world pause. She had never before looked straight at him like that, never truly acknowledged that he was visible or tangible to her - not like this. She had tried to grab his wings when she was a baby but this... this felt much different, much more significant.

"Don't you worry, precious girl. I'm keepin' an eye on everything and there are no monsters here. And if I ever find a monster, I'll make it go away. All the monsters are scared of me."

Rose shifted a little under her blankets. "You're not scary."

Nine's dark wings flexed a little at the sound of those words. Why did it feel like redemption? It shouldn't have. He knew who he was and what he was capable of; she didn't. "You don't need to be scared of me, Rose. Not ever."

She smiled. "'Cause you're the Doctor. You fix things." She reached out and, for a second, her small, chubby, innocent fingers rested on his cheek. He was surprised when she didn't come away with black stains on her fingers. Nine reached out and caught her hand in his, completely engulfing her tiny hand in his palm.

"Go back to sleep, Rose," he whispered, his voice trembling with a host of emotions he didn't dare name. "You'll be safe. I'll chase all the monsters away."

Rose smiled faintly and fell asleep. Nine stayed where he was until sunrise, his muscles cramping as he kept his vigil.

* * *

When she wasn't having nightmares, Rose was an energetic, rambunctious, and extremely daring child. She took constant looking after. Jackie would never have been able to keep up with her on her own. She tore through the house on her chubby little legs, exercising her new vocabulary almost constantly. She wasn't saying anything, just chattering to hear her own voice, so Nine tuned her out as he followed her indulgently from room to room or, depending on her mood, in circles around the living room couch.

Jackie spent most mornings following her, too, though she usually gave it up as a bad job before lunch time. Instead, she sat on the couch and kept an eye out for when Rose toddled past. Every so often, if Rose spent more than a few minutes out of Jackie's sight, she would call out and Rose would come running.

In the meantime, Jackie flipped through the channels, looking idly for something to watch.

"'Ad ya a bleedin' eyeful?! You got a nerve, largin' it in here wif - "

" - ntlemen, for the sake of the cheeseboard! The time - "

"- haven't eaten spinach since I was old enough to spit. I thought - "

" - exploded, poisoning the land around it for miles. In this - "

" - will send you a guide. Uh, Trixie Bell, that's it."

" - can run 'round the world before the truth can get its boots on."

Jackie went back the other way as Nine followed Rose in circles around the couch.

"Buggrit. Millennium hand and shrimp."¹

"- April 28, 1986, staff reported - "

Nine spun around, but the Jackie had already changed the channel again. It didn't matter; he'd heard enough, seen enough, to know what the programme was about. It hit him with the force of a demon's punch. Nine leaned against the couch, elbows locked, head bowed, glaring at the upholstery. No human documentary could know what had happened there as well as he did. The quiet, happy human town, besieged by enemies no human could see - the desperation of the fight, knowing they were vastly outnumbered. He remembered seeing the first building fall. An arcade. The flood of demons streamed out, crystal clear in his memory, their eyes gleaming black or red. There was another shape, too, a limp body carried in triumph, her wings as white as the flashing fangs of the laughing demons.

That had been when he realized what he had to do, the only choice available if they weren't to be overwhelmed. It was an awful choice: if he did nothing, the demons would destroy them all and then move on to other towns, other cities, and who knew what evil they would wreak? But if he took action...

"Doctor! Doctor! Doctor?"

The world shattered and Nine looked down at Rose, tugging urgently on his heavy denim jeans. She stopped calling and smiled.

Jackie murmured, "What doctor, Rose?" and then went back to the soap she was watching.

"I'm fine - don't you worry," he said. "Anyway, I'm guarding you, not the other way around!"

Her smile broadened and she laughed. Nine's lips pulled into a grin to match hers. He could feel scraps of darkness sloughing off and fading; it was hard to be miserable when Rose Tyler grinned at you. Through his smile, he bared his teeth and hooked his fingers into claws.

"You better run! I'm gonna get you!"

Rose took half a step back and glared at him, the picture of a determined challenger.

"No, I'm gonna get you!" She sprang at him and Nine spent the next ten minutes staying carefully just ahead of her. Finally, Rose threw herself forward and latched onto his leg, trying to growl like a ferocious beast. In fact, she sounded like a three-year-old imitating a puppy, which she did by saying "Rahr! Rahr! Rrrrrr…!"

Jackie, glancing over, must have seen Rose menacing thin air. Whatever she saw, she chose to say nothing.

* * *

"Doctor! It's only two weeks until Christmas!"

Rose was four years old and this was her fifth Christmas, the first time she had connected the end of December with presents. She'd talked of little else for the last month.

"Mickey's Gran told him that if he was bad, Father Christmas wouldn't put any toys in his stocking and he'd get a cold instead," she said as Nine prowled around her bedroom, checking for monsters as he did every night. Rose slept better if she saw him check everything very carefully before she went to sleep.

Nine, whose knowledge about Father Christmas extended very little beyond what Rose told him, glanced at her in surprise. "How does that work, then?" he asked. Father Christmas wasn't real, of course, but even if he had been, how would he have ensured that only bad children got sick?

"Dunno," Rose said. "But I have a runny nose. Does that mean I've been bad?"

He put the search on pause to kneel, smiling, by her bedside. "You are not bad, Rose. You're the nicest, smartest, best girl in the whole world, and I'm going to talk to Father Christmas myself to make sure you get plenty of toys."

Rose relaxed. She sank into her pillows. "Will you tell me a story?"

"You know I'm not so good at stories, Rose. Can never think of the kind you like hearing."

"I know. Tell me one anyway? Please?" She pouted at him, wide-eyed and wobbly-lipped. Nine knew that he shouldn't give in, that he'd folded to her often enough and really should teach her that he wasn't here to do what she asked of him. He wouldn't fold every time.

He sighed. "What about?"

"About Christmas!"

"Well… do you know about Christ? Christmas is named after him."

She shook her head, so Nine told her about a baby boy who had been born almost two thousand years ago, how He was the son of God, born to take away the sins of the world.

"Did you sing to the shepherds?" Rose asked.

"No, not me."

"Good, 'cause you're no good at singing."

Nine scowled at her without any anger behind it. "Brat. You've had your story - now go to sleep."

Rose snuggled down in her mountain of pillows. "I asked Mummy to get you a present because you're so old and you've never had one. And I made you one, too, so you'll have two."

Nine blinked at her. "When did you have time to make me a present?" And why had she felt the need to make sure he had one - let alone two? His eyes softened as she smiled.

"On Monday, when Romana was talking to you all that time. I hid it in my knicker drawer 'cos you never look there." She yawned, pulled up the blankets, and buried herself in sleepy warmth. "Love you, Doctor."

He spread his wings over her to keep out bad dreams. "Sleep well, Rose."

"No," she insisted as her eyes slid closed. "You say you love me, too."

Nine hesitated, adjusting his wings into a feathery canopy. "I love you too, precious girl. Now hush up and sleep."

Rose gave half of a sleepy giggle and fell asleep before she'd finished.

He sat there all night, watching her sleepy face. Rose Tyler was, without doubt, the most wonderful human on the planet. He didn't deserve such kindness, such shining adoration as she displayed to him. He was only a step away from falling and he had never been serene or beautiful. He was a haggard old thing full of hard lines and too many sharp angles, all topped off with a mass of feathers just this side of black…

She should have been terrified of him. She should have been. But she wasn't. She got him Christmas presents and told him she loved him. She refused to call him Nine, after the nine angels he had killed, and instead called him Doctor. Healer. As if he ever did anything other than destroy.

The next night, Nine stood guard only an hour after she had fallen asleep. He had things he needed to do.

Two weeks later, on Christmas morning, Rose pulled the paper off of an unmarked box and gasped when she saw the unassuming rubber duck inside.

"Mummy! You got me a ducky!" she cried, hugging it. "Thank you!"

Jackie snatched it and the box. "I did no such thing!" she said, inspecting the box and the duck closely. Nine wondered what she was looking for. Did she think it was somehow dangerous? Rose, confused and frightened by her mum's reaction, looked at Nine for reassurance. He winked at her.

"Happy Christmas, Rose," he said, smiling to match her bright grin.

"Mummy, my guardian angel gave it to me! Where's his present?!" She dove toward the pile of unopened presents still under the tree and came up with a shoebox. The label on it said

To: The Doctor  
From: Jackie and Rose

She held it out to him.

"How about you open it for me?"

Rose grinned and ripped into the paper with alacrity. She came up with a toy stethoscope. Nine chuckled. Apparently Jackie misunderstood when Rose talked about him.

"I love it," Nine said and watched her face light up.

Jackie refused to ever acknowledge the rubber duck, perhaps because she couldn't bring herself to admit that Rose's imaginary friend might be real. But that night it appeared in a place of honor on top of Rose's bureau.

On the wall behind it, Jackie taped Rose's present to the Doctor: a crayon drawing of the two of them, pink-and-yellow Rose standing inside the protective curve of his dark wings. The sun shone out of their smiling faces.

* * *

 _» Quotes are from Terry Pratchett's_ Going Postal,Unseen Academicals, _and_ The Truth.


	7. Chapter 6

_**Authors' Notes:**_ _So the last few chapters have really been kicking our butts, but we're happy to report that (even with Pokemon Go, which was released last week) we only have six more chapters to write! Reminder: once this story is all written, we'll switch to posting one chapter a week._

 _This is a chapter we've been looking forward to posting almost since we finished it. Not only is it one of our favorites to read, but it also has important plot elements and, in particular, is the first chapter that hints that ALL IS NOT WELL and that this actually is not as much of a happy, fluffy story as we intended it to be. We hope you like it! If you get a moment, drop us a review to let us know what you think!_

* * *

 **Falling**

 **Act One, Chapter Six**

* * *

Jackie blocked Rose's hand as it darted out in an attempt to grab candy from the shelves. "No, love, we're shopping for food now, not sweets." Rose slouched down in her seat in the trolley, her arms crossed and her lower lip jutting. Her eyes kept darting back to the shelves, though, and Nine knew her well enough to know she would make another attempt in a few minutes. Jackie knew her well enough, too, and always kept half an eye on her.

Nine turned and scanned the shoppers around them. He was bored. He loved his little charge and even liked being her guardian, but the endless drone of domesticity wore on him. His eyes skimmed over the mundane scene but stopped on a familiar shape. The man was walking straight toward them. He passed through an old woman's shopping without breaking stride and his wings flickered into view.

Nine stood at attention, squaring his shoulders as Michael approached.

"At ease," the archangel said easily when he was close enough.

"Is there something you needed?" Nine asked gruffly. Michael, commander of God's armies, was not known for making personal appearances. He was very much a chain-of-command kind of angel. If he was now appearing to Nine, who wasn't even a warrior anymore, there had to be something very serious going on. His commander didn't even glance at Jackie and Rose.

"Your missing unit member has reappeared," Michael said.

For just a second, Nine lost track of the turn of the Earth, of what was going on around him. The world narrowed down to those few words. There had been nine bodies. Nine bodies, made unrecognizable by his mistakes, and one killed by demons. Nine had known that he was not the only survivor - or, he had suspected, but since no hide, hair, or feather had been found of the missing angel, it was just as likely he was also dead. Nine wondered whether the other survivor even knew of their decimated unit.

"Who is it?" he rasped.

"Koschei," Michael said and it was as though the entire world suddenly let out a breath. Koschei had been… his brother, his best friend in the world. He had mourned every single member of his unit, but Koschei most of all. "He vanquished a demon on board a ship just days ago and chased off several more."

Nine opened his mouth to ask how he was… but paused. Michael's face was grim. He closed his mouth to hear the rest.

"There was collateral damage. A fire. More than one hundred and fifty humans died; many more were injured and in need of medical aid."

"Why are you telling me this? This isn't a courtesy call, but I was officially removed from my unit before my trial. I was reassigned."

"You know him best, Nine. He slipped away from us and has disappeared again. We need you to find him; we believe that the battle four years ago may have… affected him. He may not realize what he's doing. We need to find him before he goes rogue and does irreparable damage to himself and to humanity."

Nine sucked in a breath.

"Rose, what did I tell you?!"

His blue eyes cut suddenly toward Jackie and Rose. He swallowed. "I won't leave my charge, sir."

"Your diligence is a credit to you. Another guardian will bet appointed to take over your duties while you search. You need not leave your charge forever - but we need Koschei found. Please, Nine. You are our best chance of finding him quickly. We believe that he wants you to find him and has the means of evading everyone else."

"Why? We had other friends - other warriors, even outside of our unit. He would want to see them as much as me."

Michael sighed. "He used the blood of the demon he killed to write the names of ten angels on a wall. All ten of the angels who have died in the last 500 years, in fact."

"All ten of the angels who were in our unit, you mean."

"As you say."

"Nine of them being the angels I killed."

"Yes."

"He wants to speak with me."

"We believe that is the case, yes."

Nine closed his eyes. What did he do? Rose needed him. Some other guardian - they wouldn't know her and she would have no reason to trust them. She needed him. His duty now was to care for her - and he was doing a good job! He had never just abandoned his duties before and he wouldn't start now!

But on the other hand … he'd had a duty to Koschei for hundreds, thousands of years before Rose had existed. If he could help Koschei, maybe even keep him from falling, wasn't it worth it to leave Rose for a few weeks - or months or even years?

"No, sir. My first duty is to Rose. When she turns twenty, you can ask Gabriel to postpone my next assignment."

Michael tipped his chin down and gave Nine a strange look. "That was very close to insubordination, Nine."

Nine sneered. "I'm not a soldier now. I'm not your subordinate. My first concern is Rose until she's grown. Then, I'll do everything I can for Koschei. You can tell him that when you find him. And even then, it'll be for his sake, and for the sakes of the people he might hurt. Not because you ordered me. If this is an order. Sir."

"It is a request for help. As you say, my authority over you is limited. But this will not be the last request."

Without another word, Michael turned and walked away. He passed through a shelf of groceries and disappeared.

Nine ran to catch up with Rose and Jackie.

* * *

"Don't acknowledge him, Rose," Nine warned, pointedly ignoring the uninvited guest.

"What's 'acknowledge'?"

"It's when you pay a little attention to someone to tell them you know they're there. Just pretend it's us and your mum and no one else, alright?"

"Okay," she said in the middle of a grunt of effort. Today was couch climbing day. Rose had spent nearly the entire morning climbing onto the back of the couch and then leaping off again. It was a fairly safe game, compared with what she normally got up to, but he was keeping a careful eye on her anyway.

"Sir, I have been sent to secure your agreement in the matter of the missing angel Koschei, the only remaining member of your former unit," said the neatly-dressed angel.

"Great," Nine said, giving him an encouraging smile. "Good effort. Door's over there. Ta."

The angel stared at him. Clearly, he was not the brightest crayon in the box. "Sir," he said, more slowly, "I am here to secure your agreement in this matter."

"Yeah, I know. You said. And I said goodbye. So goodbye."

"Sir, you don't understand - "

"No, _you_ don't understand. I said _no_. I will not leave Rose."

His charge jumped from the back of the couch onto the cushions, landing on her bum with a bounce and a giggle. She sat for a moment and then scrambled down to try her hand at the bookshelf.

"Angel Nine, I'm not sure you grasp the severity of the situation."

"You _are_ dumb, then. I grasp it alright. What I don't grasp is why you're still here. Rose, don't climb on that, you'll crack your skull if you fall." He followed her over and stood behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

"But Doctor, I climbed this lots of times!" She hauled herself up to the next shelf, balancing carefully with her center of gravity over open air.

"You are the only one who could find him in time - "

"Yeah, your hundred thousand angels couldn't possibly find him better'n me on my own."

"They are busy with other assignments."

"Guess what, Sonny Jim. So'm I. Off you go now."

Rose climbed to the second-highest shelf. "Look, Doctor! I'll go all the way to the top and then jump on the couch!"

"It would earn you a commendation - "

Nine spun on his heel to glare at the pretty boy angel with his gleaming wings and his close-cropped hair and his expression of absolute bewilderment at Nine's continued refusals.

"And you can stick that commendation where the sun doesn't shine," he snapped, flaring his dark wings for emphasis. "Do I _look_ like an angel who cares about commendations?! If I cared about commendations - "

Rose gasped. Nine immediately abandoned his tirade and spun, but he was only just in time to catch her before she landed head-first on the living room floor. Her knee, which had been dashed against the shelf, started to bleed. Nine held her close, quieting her cries with soft, soothing words.

"Angel Nine, I really don't believe you've considered - "

Nine looked up and glared, his hands curling into fists. "Have you considered that _I'm not going to agree_?!" he demanded. "My charge is hurt because your empty-headed prattling distracted me from my duty! Get out and tell Michael not to send another untested bootlicker where he's not welcome!"

"It appears that you believe there is a _choice_ \- " He got no further before he had to dodge Nine's fist, which brushed past his ear. He leapt back, shocked at the fact that he had been attacked by another angel.

"There is always a choice," Nine said. "My choice is Rose. Right now, _your_ choices are leave willingly or be thrown over the balcony. Which is it gonna be?"

"I'll report you for this!"

"And Michael knows there's not a damn thing he can do about it when you were interfering with my real duties."

Nine grabbed the protesting angel's collar and headed for the door.

Rose ran after him and, as the messenger caught himself mid-air, stuck her head through the bars to shout, "And don't come back!"

* * *

Nine slouched into the park bench, watching Rose and Mickey swarm over the jungle gym. Romana sat neatly beside him, prim as always. Both of them were steadfastly ignoring one of Michael's gormless messengers who stood behind the bench.

"That girl has so much energy," he grumbled. "Do you know, yesterday, she was trying to climb the ceiling fan!"

"Angel Nine, this assignment is most urgent and I would appreciate it if - "

"She has a lot of energy. That's to be expected at this age. She'll grow out of it."

Nine grunted in response.

"Mickey, no! _I'm_ the king of the jungle gym! You can be queen."

"But I don't want to be queen! Queen is for girls! You be queen."

"Look, sir, ma'am, I know you're being very dutiful but I really - "

"No, I'm king because queen is boring! So there." Rose stuck her tongue out at Mickey from her lofty throne at the top of the jungle gym.

Nine chuckled. "Still," he said, "I wish there was a way she could be safe while she's growing out of it."

Rose stood up on the jungle gym, her feet balancing easily on the precarious perch. She spread her arms, "I'm an angel! Gonna fly to Heaven!" she shouted.

"Her balance is very good," Romana observed, "maybe you should think about gymnastics lessons."

" _Angel Nine_ , I must _insist_ that you speak with me!"

Nine turned to her, curious, "How would I do that?" he asked. "It's not like can - look, would you shut up? I'm not going to agree and you're wasting your time! - Not like I can walk up and fill in the form."

The messenger huffed indignantly and flew away, no doubt to report Nine's utter lack of manners and protocol.

"Convince the mother. I can show you how."

Rose and Mickey both shouted suddenly, but not the usual playful shouts. Rose's was in anger; Mickey's was alarmed. The angels looked over in time to see Rose slam into Mickey with her full weight, knocking him to the ground. She grabbed his shirt and shook him as Romana hurried over with Nine right behind her.

"Rose Marion Tyler!" the white-winged angel scolded. "We do not solve problems with our fists! We solve them with words! Stand up this instant, young lady!"

Rose glared but clambered off of Mickey and stood sullenly by. Nine knelt beside her as Romana saw to Mickey. This wasn't like her. Rose wasn't violent.

"First of all," he said levelly, "you need to curl your thumb against your fingers or you'll hurt yourself." He demonstrated, balling his hand into a fist for her to see. "Second, why did you punch Mickey?"

Rose glared at the boy who was now sitting up. "He said your wings were ugly," she spat. "He said you weren't a proper angel!"

Nine stared at her, his eyes widening. What was he supposed to say to that? He almost felt he should thank her for defending him or maybe give her fighting lessons. But no—Rose Tyler was not destined to be a warrior. She was going to have a safe and normal life.

"Thank you for sticking up for me," he told her, "but Romana's right. We should solve problems with words."

"But - you punched that guy th'other day!"

"Yes, but only because you got hurt. Anyway, I'm not a good example."

Rose scowled, "He shouldn't'a said it. Your wings are great and you're the best angel ever, Doctor."

Nine fluttered his wings a little and stretched them out to close her in a circle of feathers, the closest he could now come to hugging her. "And you're the best human ever, Rose. But I don't mind if he doesn't like my wings. As long as you like them, that's what I care about. Alright? So no more punching Mickey for making fun of them."

Rose glared at Mickey again. "Can I punch him for other things?"

Nine hesitated and then glanced over to make sure Romana wasn't paying attention. He lowered his voice. "Only if you promise to punch him with a good punching fist."

"Okay. Promise!"

Romana glanced over with a scowl, although she probably hadn't heard. Nine gave her a sunny smile.

"Gymnastics it is!"

* * *

The messenger of the day was less idiotic than the previous models but no less annoying. Nine had been hard pressed to ignore him especially since he, unlike the others, wasn't afraid to force his attention. Rose snuggled into her pillow and propped the book open on her knees.

"The Story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears," Nine announced as she turned the first page. Just then, the aforementioned angel reappeared for another attempt. This time he came straight at Nine and grabbed his shoulder. Nine brushed him off with an icy glare.

"It's story time. I'll deal with you in a minute."  
Rose turned the page.

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Goldilocks." Rose was a mediocre page turner; she kept getting distracted by the mermaid on her pajamas or the color of her newly-painted fingernails. With some reminding, though, they worked their way through the porridge and the chairs. "This bed is too hard," Nine read dutifully, shaking the angel off again and easily surfing his voice over the indignant demands. Honestly, this was now a daily occurrence and was hardly even annoying anymore. "This bed is too soft. This bed is just right and if you grab my wing one more time, soldier, so help me I will rip your feathers out."

"That's not in the story, Doctor!" Rose scolded.

"You're right, precious girl. Sorry. Where were we?"

"Just right," Rose said.

"Yeah. This bed is just right."

"Nine," the angel snarled, "you will pay heed to your superior officers or be charged with sedition!"

Nine turned and leveled another poisonous glare at him. "It is _story time_. If you want to speak to me you will wait until Rose is asleep."

"Not gonna go to sleep," Rose said, turning a few pages back while the angels were distracted. "I like it when the Doctor gets into fights with stupid angels."

"Nine, you da - "

"If you swear in front of my charge I will tear off your wings and - " Nine cut himself off, glanced at Rose's eager expression, and finished, "Well, use your imagination."

"Stick them where the sun don't shine," Rose suggested. Oops. Hopefully she wouldn't say that in front of Jackie any time soon.

"I'd like to see you try, you jumped-up, half-damned has-been," the angel snarled. Nine got up suddenly.

"Right. Rose, go to sleep. You, outside with me. We're going to have a bit of a chat about _manners_ and _age appropriate language_."

* * *

Jackie scurried through the messy kitchen, clutching her mug of tea for dear life. With her free hand, she searched for the nearest chair at the kitchen table and sat down. _Plop_. She set her mug down and rested her face in her hands, hoping the heaviness in her eyelids would go away soon.

Soon enough, Rose appeared in the kitchen with her blonde hair in a messy ponytail at the top of her little head. The girl tugged at the hem of her Little Mermaid nightgown and smiled sheepishly.

"G'mornin', mummy."

"G'mornin', Rose!" Jackie replied, perking up for her child. "D'you want some breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"D'you want cereal?"

"Yeah!" Rose clambered onto her seat, dutifully placing her Little Mermaid-themed cup, bowl, and color-changing spoon on the matching placemat.

Jackie chuckled as she got back up to retrieve Rose's favorite cereal. Strangely, though, as she pulled the cereal box out, a glossy packet of paper fell from the cabinet and fluttered to the floor. Jackie bent down to pick it up and turned it in her hands.

"Oh." She mumbled. In her hands was a brochure for children's' gymnastics at the YMCA. She could feel the corners of her mouth turn down in a pensive frown as she thought about it. Rose was a pretty pesky kid. Gymnastics might give her something to do with all those wiggles…

"Rose…" she began, turning to look at the blonde 5-year-old, who was already planning the days stunts. She had to call a couple of times before she got those large brown eyes to focus on her. "How would you like to do gymnastics?"


End file.
